


Here's Looking At You, Pig

by DamnFineCupOfCoffee



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Emotional, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, John Mulaney Quotes, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, beware! john mulaney references ahead, crackship, this pig is gay and he fucks and there's nothing you can do about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 13:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamnFineCupOfCoffee/pseuds/DamnFineCupOfCoffee
Summary: Two wall-crawling strangers, alike and, yet, so dissimilar, find themselves caught in an interdimensional web, one that leads to them becoming closer than they ever thought was possible. A bit of romance that went down before Mile's arrival at Aunt May's house.





	Here's Looking At You, Pig

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoy! I know I'm late to the party but I really wanted to finally get this out there. Spider-Verse deserves a long-lasting fandom, and so here I am, hoping to contribute some to that! This is my first chapter work, so hopefully I'll be dedicated to it during the free time I have from uni.  
> I always appreciate comments if you have any!  
> Follow me on twitter @twinpeaksVHS

Let’s start from the beginning. They stood apart during the initial introductions; it was understandable. All three of them had just been dragged into a universe beyond their understanding, each one given no explanation as to how or why. Throughout their respective wall-crawling careers, they had all learned to not be too trusting, and right now, this entire universe was untrustworthy. But, they were all Spiders, bound together by some similar, heroic web of fate. So, when in doubt, when thrust into an unknown world, they had each known exactly where to go.  
  
It had certainly taken Aunt May by surprise to see three, oh-so-familiar strangers show up on her doorstep seeking asylum, each one more odd than the last, but it was nothing that she wasn’t prepared for. If she could handle life with one Spider-Man, she could handle life with any number of them. The multiverse was certainly something that she had never encountered before, but it was no more intimidating than any of the other absurdities Peter had often brought home with him from work.  
  
She tried her best to make the three visitors feel at home, which was difficult, considering how dissimilar their homes were from her own. The young girl and her machine came from a world of the far-off future, the brooding vigilante saw life in only black and white, and then... there was the talking pig, who talked too much, especially for an animal. A strange ensemble, for sure, and they all recognized this. It made conversation difficult.  
  
Aunt May, however, was known for her strength as a hostess, and eventually, the tensions began to dissipate. She was a bit of comfort, a bit of normalcy, that all three desperately needed. The girl, Peni Parker, accompanied May to the kitchen for some snacks, leaving the other two behind in the Spider-Cave, alone if not for the awkward silence between them.  
  
Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, sat on a rolling chair with a size that dwarfed him but a color scheme that matched his suit perfectly. He was quiet, his thumbs twiddling, his eyes darting about. This was the longest he had ever gone without speaking, probably. He wasn’t often at a loss for words. To compensate, his mind was in overdrive, thinking up a thousand-different play-on-words for a thousand different scenarios. He thought in a series of rapid-fire flashes, fitting sound effects, and quippy one-liners.  
  
If anyone was out of place here, it was him. As a talking pig, he was dinner and a show. It was a terrifying experience, to be whisked away into another world and confronted by a sinister six of hotdog carts and burger joints within your first thirty minutes there. And tall-dark-and-not-so-handsome’s leather-clad attire wasn’t making him feel any more comfortable.  
  
Spider-Ham swiveled round in his chair till he faced the shadows in which the stranger stood, locked in some deep introspection. He was invisible, save for those streetlamp eyes, the only indication of his presence. His voice could just faintly be heard; it moved through the air like two lovers and whiskey on a speakeasy dance floor.  
  
**“…I’m not sure whether it was day or night. Whichever it was, it was dark all the same. As dark as the cowardly souls of the ne’er-do-wells that plague the streets I wander… The pig sat a stone’s throw away…looked like he popped right out of the funny pages. Funny…there’s nothing funny about this way of life.”**  
  
Spider-Ham’s head drooped to the side, inquisitively. “Are you…monologuing right now?”  
  
**“‘Monologuing’, he said…isn’t all of life just one long monologue?”,** the man in the dark continued. **“Who else in this world can you really talk to, except for yourself?”**  
  
Spider-Ham, a bit flummoxed but, now, much more interested, hopped down from the chair and walked over towards the shadows. “Ya know, ya keep talking like that, people are gonna start thinkin’ y’re a weirdo.”  
  
He stuck his hand out in greeting, inviting the stranger to come out and return in kind. “Name’s Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, what’s yours again, doc?”  
  
A pause. The vigilante seemed as if he was preparing for the next beat in his monologue. But, then, surprisingly, he stepped out into the light, and joined hands with his fellow Spider. “Peter Parker, Spider-Man.”  
  
“Well, howdyado, aren’t we all?”, the other Peter replied, with an accompanying eyeroll. “Ya gotta give me more to work here, toots.”  
  
The handshake was dropped- politely, out of completion of the gesture, rather than from some tension between the two. Though it was hard to tell, considering his face was covered by both a tight mask and a wide-brimmed fedora, he seemed to give off a smile. “I’m the sole defender of justice in a world of corrupt flatfoots, backstabbing bootleggers, and a thousand other types of crooks.”  
  
“Ahh, okay, so ya’ve got a noir detective thing goin’, I get it. How ‘bout we go with that, huh? I’ll call ya Noir, just so we can differentiate.”  
  
The newly christened Noir tipped his hat in polite agreement. “Sounds aces, Porker. You know, you talk like a real Abercrombie.”  
  
“Oy vey, d’ya got a whole 1930s dictionary in that trench coat with ya? Or are ya just happy to see me?”, he chided, as he brought the conversation back towards the comfort of the rolling chair.  
  
Noir, several times Spider-Ham’s height, and likely more deserving of the spot on the chair, propped himself upon the nearby command console without complaint. His eyes (goggles?) stayed locked onto his new two-dimensional friend as he spun around in the chair with slapstick abandon. “So, where’d you learn to quip like that? What sort of crime-busting do you get yourself into that you need a mouth as smart as that?”  
  
The spinning stopped, at least, for a moment. “Well, buddy, in my world its either quip or be quipped, and I’m at the top of my game. But my life is more than just doin’ good at do-goodin’. I’m a star reporter and photojournalist for the Daily Beagle, been workin’ on the press for most of my life. I gotta have that gift of gabbin’ and jabbin’.”  
  
“You know, here’s a good one: what’s black and white and red all over?”, Noir said, in a vague attempt at a quip. He was met with silence. “Any dastardly zebra that tries to cross paths with you, I bet.”  
  
He jumped into a pugilist stance, hands up, shadowboxing. He laughed; he was the only one to. It was the first time he had laughed in…wow, he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed at all.  
  
“Ya know,” Spider-Ham began, “that’s a start. It’s not great, but it’s a start. I’ll get ya quippin’ like a real toon in no time.”  
  
Noir shook his head, his eyes towards the ground. He moved his hands off the command console and took a moment to adjust his fedora. From there, he crossed his arms and gave a sigh. “I don’t think quips are exactly up my alley, Porker. My line of work is of the ‘stay quiet, stay alive’ variety.”  
  
“But,” he continued, “I’ve always wanted to work for the weeklies. A good man, Ben Urich, got me interested in the papers. He was the most respectable reporter I’ve ever met. Lost his life in the pursuit of justice. It’s my goal to be like him.”  
  
From his trench coat, he pulled out a small, silver flask and popped open the lid. He pushed up the lower half of his mask, uncovering his mouth so he could take a swig. He gave no reaction to the alcohol, it seemed like it was something he was used to. Noir went to close the flask, only to be interrupted.  
  
“Hang on, ya brought alcohol with ya and didn’t bother to tell me?”, Spider-Ham exclaimed, his eyes as wide as they were bright. He popped up from his seat and reached towards the flask, standing on the tips of his toes even with the additional boost in height of the rolling chair.  
  
Noir chuckled and conceded, passing the flask to his friend, who took to holding it with the both of his hands. “I always carry hooch with me, just in case I get shot or fall in love.”  
  
Spider-Ham, between drinks, replied, “And which one of those is this?”  
  
Noir plucked the flask away and, playfully, gave the chair a shove, so as to send Porker spinning round once again. He took another swig. Though he stood rather solemnly, he could feel every nerve in his body jumping about. This was all so far out of his comfort zone; this world was so bright, its shadows never dark enough to truly lose himself within. His motto had been to stay silent, to stay unseen, to hide away all his person, all his anxieties and worries, in the dark, in the mask. But now, he was in the open, in the light, sharing his life story with a stranger. They were so similar, but each one carried enough individuality to make the conversation something exciting.  
  
He could feel this world rejecting him; he could feel his own world calling him home. His very essence found itself caught in between. This bit of company, of both alcohol and a fellow Spider, was a welcomed solace.  
  
“I guess we’ll just have to see, now, won’t we?”, Noir finally answered. He placed the flask down next to where he sat on the command console, only for it to be quickly picked back up by the nimble, four-fingered hands of Spider-Ham.  
  
“How long have ya been in this line of work?”, Porker asked, before downing an impossibly large gulp.  
  
“Four years,” Noir conceded, following a pause. He was both self-conscious of his relative inexperience as a Spider, as well as incredibly impressed by his friend’s know-how for alcohol.  
  
A spit-take followed, in true toon fashion, and Noir found himself utterly drenched. Peter Porker, slapstick savant, was never one to miss out on a comedic opportunity.  
  
Exasperated, Porker, exclaimed, “That’s it? That’s it? I’ve been Spider-Ham thirty f***ing years!”  
  
He covered his mouth instinctively. “What the f*** was that? Wait, what the f***?!”  
  
For every expletive shouted, a sharp, censoring tone took its place. It seemed that, whatever this world was, it carried with it a strict-PG rating, one that didn’t allow for the language Spider-Ham was quite adept with.  
  
“Ahhhh, s***, I can’t say nothin’ in this world!”, he complained, as he proceeded to jump from his seat and pace around the room. It served as much-needed entertainment for Noir, who, incidentally, took this moment to usurp Spider-Ham’s position on the rolling chair.  
  
He continued to pace for a tad bit longer, caught in a web of exasperation. Once he finally tired out (if that was even possible), he turned back towards Noir, ready to continue their conversation.  
  
“So, you’re still pretty new to this whole web-slinging thing, aren’t you?”, Spider-Ham asked, his voice, now more collected, less frantic in delivery, carrying genuine concern.  
  
Noir leaned back into the chair, wishing some shadows would come along and swallow him whole. It was so much easier to talk when no one else was listening. When you’re alone, on a stage in an empty theater, hidden in the dark behind the curtains, there’s nothing to be afraid of. No one can see you: your fears, your worries. The monologues, though theatrical, were all he ever had.  
  
Now, he was in an actual conversation, with an actual person, whether he was a talking animal or not. He enjoyed it, very much so, but every question struck like a bullet.  
  
“…Yes,” Noir finally divulged. “Hasn’t been the easiest gig in New York, I’ll tell you that.”  
  
He paused. “You’re getting me real flimflammed here, Ham. I don’t think I’ve talked this much since Ben passed.”  
  
Spider-Ham, noticing his friend’s discomfort, walked towards him and placed a hand on his knee for comfort (he would’ve put the hand on Noir’s shoulder, but he wasn’t tall enough to reach). The masks they wore served as a disguise, a disguise for both their identities and their emotions. But when you’ve lived under one for long enough, you learn to read the masks of others’ pretty well. Spider-Ham could read every inch of Noir’s face, and knew, as the veteran wall-crawler here, it was his job to serve as guidance.  
“We all have to start somewhere, grimdark. It’s a tough job, and ya end up getting well acquainted with rock bottom. Ya’ver been beaten in a fight by Ducktor Doom or the Hobgobbler? Doesn’t do too great for ya self-esteem.”  
  
“But, hey,” he continued. “Lemme give ya some streets smarts! Ya know, ‘great power’ and all that stuff. Ya’lways gonna find a way to wall-crawl back from that. You’re a Spider-Man! It’s what we do. It’s what you do.”  
  
Noir, touched by Spider-Ham’s words (and his hand on his knee), looked up and gave his friend a pat on the shoulder in return. “You’re a real cool cat, there, Pig. It’s nice bumping gums with someone who’s got a lot to say. Seems like your world’s in pretty good hands.”  
  
Porker gave an oversized shrug. “It takes a lot out of ya. That’s why I have to replace it all with booze. Speaking of…”  
  
He nodded in the direction of the flask, now perched on the command console. Noir followed and grabbed the flask once more, disappointed by how much lighter it now felt in his hands.  
  
“Hmph, the world’s always three drinks behind, isn’t it?” he said, still holding onto the flask, contemplating a drink. “But, I’ll tell you, I’d kill for a cup of egg cream right now.”  
  
Spider-Ham, his mask animated, his eyes deep and pitiful, stood in a silent plea for the last remaining swig. Noir soon conceded and passed the flask over. The two men’s hands stayed in embrace for just a moment longer than was necessary.


End file.
